Hearing Hoofbeats
by Croik
Summary: A/E.  When Eames hears that Arthur's been kidnapped by Cobol, he rushes to the rescue.


Inception, it's characters and setting, do not belong to me and are being used here without permission but for no profit. This fic is rated PG-13 for mild language and violence. Written for LJ's ae_match challenge, Team Angst.

**Hearing Hoofbeats**

Oneshot

* * *

><p>"Have you heard Cobol's in town?"<p>

Eames glanced up from his hand-a particularly useless collection of various suits-and tossed another chip in. "This is Africa," he said. "Cobol is always in town."

The man next to him immediately raised. "Heard they took in Cobb's team," he went on, and Eames was just good enough to keep from twitching. "Was only a matter of time, really."

Eames tried to keep his eyes and head in the game, with little success. "Shame. He's a rare one, that Cobb."

"I heard it was just the one they nabbed," said a different man. "Some skinny kid in a suit."

It came back to Eames to bet; he slapped his cards face down on the table. "I fold."

Eames ducked outside, phone in hand. Arthur's cell went immediately to voicemail and he didn't bother to leave a message. He was shaking his head, telling himself not to get worked up over bar rumors, when his phone rang. "Arthur?" he answered.

"So you heard," said a familiar voice, though not the one he was hoping for. "I think you'll want to come out here."

* * *

><p>Cobol's Mikindani factory had for years been cultivating a gruesome reputation, and Eames considered himself lucky that he had never before had an occasion to visit. As he watched its shadow stretch across the dusty streets toward his alley hiding spot he had to admit it would be a shame to break his record. He dialed Arthur's phone again, and when he still got no answer he grumbled a curse under his breath.<p>

He thought back to the last time he had seen Arthur, only a few weeks ago, ducking into an airport taxi. Most of their rendezvous ended that way. It had never occurred to him before how insufficient that seemed.

A man jogged up to him with a heavy duffle bag over his shoulder. He was long-limbed and his hair was shaved as short and ragged as his whiskers: fellow extractor Benjamin Bone. He wasted no time in opening the bag and offering Eames a .45 handgun, which Eames accepted and checked over with approval.

"I heard earlier this morning that Cobol brought in one of Cobb's," Bone said briskly as he pulled out a weapon of his own. "I could care less what they do to _him_ but when I asked around they said it wasn't Cobb himself, it was his partner. He's already had a price on his head for a long time, from a lot of people. If we wait too long there won't be much left of him."

Eames scowled at him. "You think I don't know that?" He thumbed the safety off. "But this _is_ Cobol we're talking about. I sincerely hope you're not suggesting we storm the front gate."

Bone dug into his bag again and pulled out an iron pipe. "I can make a bomb," he suggested.

A van rumbled past them, and both men ducked further into the alley. As Eames pressed his back to the wall he looked to Bone's duffel; it wouldn't matter how many guns he had stowed in there if they couldn't get in and out without having their heads blown open by Cobol's thugs, to make no mention of the fact that he didn't know what condition their captive would be in. He had seen Cobol's handiwork and the thought of discovering Arthur in such a state made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"I appreciate you ingenuity," he said, "but I think we'll have to do better than that."

Bone tapped his shoulder and indicated the front of the factory. "Look."

The entry gate was open, but before Eames could think to take advantage the van went through and then the gate was closing again. A group of men had exited the factory and were gathering in the small courtyard-all in suits, all doubtlessly armed. As Eames watched they opened the back of the van, and then two more men emerged from the building, carrying someone between them. Eames' stomach dropped.

The man in the middle was either unconscious or dead. A dark sack had been pulled over him, obscuring all but his tan trousers and bloodied feet. He made no effort to stand let alone fight, his skin scraping across the pavement as he was dragged toward the van. Eames pressed into the corner, his hand sweating against the grip of his handgun. "There's only five of them," he said to himself. He could barely take his eyes off their captive's raw, limp feet, and the coppery stains left in their wake. "If we don't do it now-"

"And a small army inside," Bone reminded him. When the men loaded their prisoner into the van he tapped Eames again. "Keep an eye on them but _don't move_." He gave Eames a stern look and then hefted his bag and darted deeper into the alley.

Eames started to curse after him, but then the van started up, capturing his attention again. He wiped his sleeve over his mouth. Everything was happening too fast, and though he usually thrived under such pressure, it was different thinking that it was Arthur bouncing lifelessly in the back of the filthy vehicle. Arthur should have been better than that. And more importantly, how could Eames have let it happen under his nose?

The gate opened again. Eames shifted his weight, drawing the gun up-shooting out a tire would be easy enough. He had more than enough shots for each of the men, and even if there were more inside he was confident he could get into the van and out with Arthur before they had a chance to gather. Losing them afterwards, however...

The van rumbled past, and though Eames' finger curled over the trigger, he didn't squeeze. With teeth clenched he watched it drive away, followed by two more Cobol men in a gray Subaru. "Shit, Benny," he said under his breath. "Where the hell are you?"

Another engine roared down the street, and Eames jumped when a rusty heap of a truck screeched to a halt just outside the alley. Bone was behind the wheel. "Get in."

Eames glanced to the factory, and though Bone's loud entrance had drawn a few stares, none of the men seemed to have caught on yet. He rushed into the passenger side. "I'm surprised this thing drives," he said as they sped off. "You couldn't have hot-wired something-"

"It was the first thing I found." Bone shifted gears and shoved the pedal down. "If we were dreaming I'd do better."

Eames glanced to him sharply. Cold seeped into his chest and he closed his eyes, remembering where they were and how he had gotten there-and then how he had arrived at the bar before that, and the pocket he'd picked for gambling money before _that_. _This is all too sudden_, he thought again, and when he opened his eyes again he could see the Subaru ahead of them. _It's too bizarre._

Bone punched him in the shoulder. "You're awake. Just wait until we get a little further from the factory and you can shoot the tire out."

Eames leaned forward in his seat, but as he took in the scenery of old buildings whirling past he realized where they were headed. "They're going to cross the causeway," he said. "We'll take them there."

"He's going to end up in the river," Bone warned.

"If we cause a crash on the causeway it'll get shut down-then at least they won't be able to call in their backup."

"But then there'll be cops," said Bone. "Did you not see how many guns I have on me?"

Eames slapped the dashboard. "Don't miss the turn!"

Bone cursed, and the brakes squealed in complaint as he followed van and car around a sharp left turn. One of the men in the Subaru glanced back, and then spoke urgently to the driver. "They're on to us," Bone grumbled.

"It doesn't matter-just wait until we're on the causeway."

The street opened into two lanes, and as they rounded the bed the river came into view, bathed in orange. The causeway stretched across it: four lanes, east and westbound separated by dead grass and a concrete partition. Traffic was sparse enough that Bone had no trouble following their quarry. Eames started to roll down his window, but then had a better idea. He buckled his seatbelt. "Ram them."

Bone glared at him, but seeing Eames' expression halted his protests. He jerked his own belt on and sped up. "If we all end up swimming, you'd better hope we wake up," he said. Eames braced himself.

Cobol's men looked back; their eyes widened and it looked like one of them reached for a gun, just before the truck slammed into them. Eames jerked in his seat, the belt digging in, and the gun slipped involuntarily from his hand. His heart pounded as he watched the Subaru swerve and skid into the next lane, narrowly avoiding a second car. As soon as they were out of the way Bone floored it, lurching ahead so that nothing was between them and the van.

Eames leaned down, groping along the floor of the truck when a bullet crashed through the rear window and then the windshield, right where his head might have been. He flinched but managed to reclaim his gun, and was careful sitting back up.

"Should have shot them," Bone said.

"There'll be plenty of time for 'I-told-you-so' later," Eames retorted. He finished rolling down the window, and rather than argue any longer he leaned out, just enough to line up a shot. Bullets rocketed past and one smashed into the side mirror but he didn't flinch a second time. He aimed, trying not to think about the unconscious man tumbling the back of the van, and fired.

The tire blew, and immediately the van veered, fish-tailing between the lanes. Eames grimaced as he pulled back into the truck. His pulse was fast in his temples and for a few brief moments he was helpless, watching the van flail out of control and into the concrete wall. But when it ricocheted away, careening across both lanes toward the outer guard rail, Eames surged forward. He jerked the wheel, and at the same time stomped Bone's foot to the floor mat so that the truck leapt ahead with a roar.

The back end of the van slammed into them. Eames rocked but he forced Bone to keep on the gas, driving both vehicles away from the rail and churning river below. He was granted only brief moments of victory; the Subaru crashed into them from behind a moment later, and the extra jump from the impact drove them harder into the van's side. Everything spun, metal screamed, and Eames had the breath crushed out of him again by his seatbelt. He closed his eyes, wondering again if he might have been dreaming, until the world ground to an ear-splitting halt.

"Eames." Bone yanked at him, and Eames breathed a sharp sigh when his seatbelt was released, allowing him to sag forward against the dashboard. "You all right?"

Eames took only a moment to catch his breath before he clawed the seatbelt off him. "Get the ones in the car," he said as he turned to shove at the door. "I've got the van."

"Be careful."

Eames dragged himself out of the car. The seatbelt had kept him from slamming about the truck too badly but his heart was still thundering, and his limbs were weak from the shock of the crash. Sun and sweat burned his eyes but as soon as he had his balance he stormed forward. The van had been rocked off its wheels-it lay like a wounded animal stretched across both eastbound lanes, glass and metal in all directions. Eames ignored the cars that had stopped all around them, and the drivers peering out of them, his only focus on the dented back door of the van. It wasn't until he was yanking it open that he even remembered he'd lost the gun again.

One of the rear doors opened, swinging upward, but the lower had been smashed around its hinge and wouldn't budge. As Eames crouched down to try and crawl through he could hear a man's pained whimper echoing from inside; a shudder ran up his arms. He had never heard Arthur make a sound like that.

Eames only got a glimpse of the inside-cheap upholstery flecked with dried blood, a man crumpled against the windows-before he was driven back by gunfire. He reached behind him but there was no gun in his belt to draw. Crouched beneath the broken door he glanced back, and saw Bone dragging the Cobol men from their totaled Subaru.

"Who are you?" shouted a man in the van. Glass crunched beneath his heels as he climbed around the seats. "The fuck do you want?"

"Let him go and I won't have to kill you," Eames replied. He stripped out of his jacket, thinking he could use it maybe to strangle, or even capture the gun if the thug was dumb enough to point it out the door.

"You stupid fuck, you think I'd really-"

The man cried out, and Eames ducked lower as more shots were fired. One pierced the window near his foot but pulled wide of flesh. He could hear a struggle; the Cobol man was cursing atop a cacophony of crackling glass and thrashing fabric.

"Son of a bitch! I'll fucking kill you right here!"

There was no time-Eames leapt through the opening. He couldn't see much in the cramped space but bloodied feet were kicking wildly, tossing the Cobol thug against the van's ceiling and seats. Light reflected off the polished barrel of the gun and Eames pounced; he crushed the man into the ground with the weight of his body and punched him in the back of the head. When the man struggled he punched again, and again, slamming his face into broken glass until he at last slumped into unconsciousness.

Eames peered toward the front of the van, and saw another man still buckled in, bleeding from the nose, unconscious. Once he was finally sure that they were relatively safe he turned to Arthur. The sack was still secure around his upper torso and blood had seeped through it in places. The sight of it turned Eames' face white and he scrambled to loosen it.

"It's all right," he said, trying to sound confident and easy, but his hands shook as he uncovered battered legs, bloody stains old and fresh, wrists bounds by biting, plastic restraints. "I've got you-hold on, almost there."

Eames ripped the sack all the way off, and his face fell.

"Eames?" Bone peered in through the back. When he, too, saw the results of their rescue mission, he blinked. "Who the fuck is that?"

Eames sat back on his haunches: there was a man sprawled before him, bound and gagged, skinny and brunette and dressed in a suit...but not Arthur. His hair was long and greasy and whiskers spattered his sharp-angled chin. He looked up at Eames with wide, watering eyes, pleading with him.

Eames felt numb, but he reached forward anyway, undoing the gag. "Where are Cobb and Arthur?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Nash blubbered. "I don't know, honest."

"Were they taken by Cobol?" When Nash didn't answer quickly enough Eames grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "Do they have Arthur or not?"

"No!" Nash didn't even bother to struggle against him. "No, it's just me, they're...they're with Saito or else I don't know where the fuck they are, I swear!" He shuddered. "Please don't leave me here."

Eames let him go and looked to his partner. Bone shook his head. "Well, fuck," he said.

"Please don't fucking leave me," Nash whimpered.

Eames sighed, and dragged the sack over Nash's head again. "Stay quiet," he said, and when Bone shrugged in helpless agreement, he dragged Nash to the busted door. Bone helped lift him out, and as Nash caught his breath on the pavement the two men exchanged looks.

"His name's Nash," Eames said. "He's one of us." He wiped sweat from his forehead. "Christ."

"Then I know where we can take him." Bone hefted his duffle. "But the truck is fucked-we need a way out of here before the cops show up."

Eames went back to the truck and retrieved his handgun. After a quick glance around he spotted one of the many stopped cars and its single gawker occupant. "I've got it."

All it took was waving the gun around to get them a car, and then they were speeding away, into the city.

* * *

><p>Eames didn't know or quite care what Bone did with Nash-he said something about someone in the business that could be trusted to keep a secret or two, and that was good enough for him. With their stolen car dumped and Cobol's thugs hospitalized or in lockup, Eames slipped to the back of a bar to catch his breath and make a phone call. On the second ring, it was answered.<p>

"Who's this?" Arthur asked immediately.

Eames released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Arthur."

He snorted. "What a coincidence. This is Arthur, too."

Eames smirked despite himself. "It's Eames," he said. "I called you earlier but you didn't answer."

"I was in a jet." Eames could hear the chime of a laptop starting up. "What do you want?"

"Just checking in. Are you still in Japan?"

"Not anymore. Why, where are you?"

Eames slumped against the back wall; he wanted to hate Arthur for sounding so damn casual, but relief overpowered all else. "Mombasa."

Arthur chuckled dryly. "Then I won't be seeing you anytime soon. The price on my head went up recently-have you heard?"

"Oh, yes. I've heard." Eames licked a spot of blood off his knuckle. "You, ah, watch your back, all right?"

"You don't have to worry about me," Arthur scoffed. "I can take care of myself just fine."

"I know, but-"

"Goodbye, Eames."

He hung up, and Eames glowered at his phone for a long moment. "Prick," he grumbled. "I really was worried, you know."

_That's because you're going soft,_ he could just imagine Bone saying. With a sigh he tucked his phone away and headed back to the bar, wondering if he could sit in on one more hand of poker before the end of the night.


End file.
